


Funny How It Goes

by oh_well (karin6824)



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, In Panem-AU, Merchant!Katniss, Seam!Peeta, prostitute!Peeta
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2018-10-16 15:48:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10574490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karin6824/pseuds/oh_well
Summary: “You’re the baker’s son. The one that lives in the Seam.”He seemed so surprised. “You know who I am?”“Yeah,” she said, “You’re the same as me.”And she's right... They’re two sides to the same coin. Chance had tossed their lives into the air and given them the same fate on opposite parts of the district.She’s the miner’s Merchant daughter. And he’s the baker’s Seam son.





	1. First

**Author's Note:**

> Previously posted on tumblr as a submission for the Everlark Fic Exchange (Spring 2017).  
> Based on the prompt 26: A drabble where Peeta is from the Seam and Katniss is a Merchant but he’s still the one with the crush??? Sorry if it’s too specific ahah i just never read something quite like that ” (sent to me many moons ago via anon). [submitted by @titaniasfics]. (From the Everlark Fic Exchange tumblr)
> 
> Unbeta'd, weird changes of verb tenses that I don't know how they got there. Also, I don't even have an outline yet.  
> And I don't own the Hunger Games.  
> Enjoy :)

 

She was born out of a one year affair her mother had with a Seam brat; that’s what her grandparents always called her missing father. She kind of agreed. When it was quiet at night her mother would whisper to her about him, how it had been love at first sight, how he had swept her off her feet, how he wanted to give her everything he had, even though he didn’t have much to begin with. But then it was day again, and he wasn’t there and he hadn’t given them anything, not even his presence. Her mother said her parents hadn’t approved of him, but Katniss always thought that was a cheap excuse; if they had loved each other so much, why hadn’t they ignored her parents? Funny how the man continued to live in the Seam, no one batting an eye, while her mother faced the scorn and ridicule of her family and neighbours, never mind her accusing dark child.

So Katniss grew up as a merchant. The only olive-skinned, dark-haired, gray-eyed towny girl she knew. But luckily that could be fixed. Kind of. As the apothecary’s daughter, and apprentice, she had access to all sorts of concoctions and exclusive products, such as the hair dye her mother prepared especially for her once a month, so that she would be a blonde, too. Like mother like daughter.

  
  


He was born out of a one night affair his mother had with a towny. A coward, that’s what he was. Denying the existence of his unborn son, so that he wouldn’t have to shed a dime nor share the district’s talk. Funny how the man continued to live in town, no one mentioning a thing, later on becoming the baker, while his mother remained a Seam slut, penniless and forgotten, discarded aside like a broken toy he didn’t fancy anymore, never mind her accusing blonde child.

Peeta wasn’t the only fair-skinned, blond-haired, blue-eyed seam brat he knew of. That’s not to say that there were many like him, but it wasn’t unheard of either. Many women like her mother had fallen prey to false promises or desperate circumstances; the lack of means to survive were a daily struggle, after all. And her mother hated him for looking like the predator.

And yet, despite everything, he was in love with a merchant girl. Even if she didn’t know he existed.

 

He had fallen for her at the raw age of five, when he didn’t know better, and the sound of her voice making the birds stop to listen had been enough to pull him in. In his defence, she looked Seam, with two dark braids and a pretty red dress.

 

And then, when they were eleven, she saved his life. She found him beaten and curled up under the Alder tree behind the apothecary, ready to give up, let them take him to the Community Home, he didn’t care anyway, it’d be the same as home. But she healed him. She approached him and spoke with a soft voice, afraid of scaring him away. He refused to go inside the apothecary, but that didn’t deter her from carrying out a healing bag and treating his bruises and wounds; there wasn’t much she could do about his twisted leg. He didn’t say anything to her at the time, too startled by her gentle hands and kindness. He couldn’t remember ever been treated like that, with care.

She wasn’t blond then, but she was the next time he saw her.

He wanted to approach her the next day at school, to thank her, but was surprised by her new hair colour, and the timing of it. It must have happened after she went back inside and he left, in the privacy of shut curtains and the quiet of night. And he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was because she had been spotted associating with him. That it was his fault. And how could he thank her now?

 

At sixteen, they come across each other in the Meadow. She was looking for healing herbs. He for edible plants. She noticed he had more than what he could have found in the Meadow only. So they make a deal. He’ll venture the woods for her, to collect whichever plant is needed, and then they’ll trade at the apothecary’s back door.

 

It becomes more than trading. They establish a sort of friendship, disguised as a business arrangement. And her mother, surprisingly, turns a blind eye on it. Maybe because the apothecary is actually benefiting from it, or maybe because her mother is aware that Katniss has also caught the eye of the baker’s second son, the one that actually matters. Katniss likes to pretend she hasn’t. That his flirtations aren’t painfully obvious, even to her, that he’s perhaps interested in her friend Madge and that’s why he tries to talk to her as often as he can. Although, according to Madge, he isn’t really interested, at least not in that way; he’s just following his mother’s orders, the way Katniss should with hers, for they would make a respectable merchant couple, never mind her own dark skin that everyone pretends not to notice these days. He is a good prospect and proper suitor, so Katniss doesn’t flat out refuse him, humouring her mother for the time being. Even if she does not want to marry at all.

 

And as for the baker’s bastard son, she’s friends with him, and that’s that. Even if sometimes the notion that she has caught his eye, too, arises. Every time she sees him, she silently refuses for there to be anything more. How could there be… She knows what he does for a living. He told her himself. It wasn’t one of those nonsensical rumours that you hear at school, that you know you can’t believe; this had come straight from the source.

It surprised her, when that first Sunday morning they traded, he asked for prophylactics in exchange. She would have thought that if he had to scavenge for food in the Meadow and the woods, he wouldn’t have much left to go around to buy rubbers instead of asking for something more practical. After making his request, and getting her stunned silence in reply, he at least had had the decency to blush, but didn’t budge when she offered him coin instead. And as if knowing he had the need for rubbers wasn’t enough, she also had to swallow her mortification, and ask with a squeaky, awkward voice, what his prefered size was.

 

The truth had come later on, this time, from word of mouth. She tried to ignore, and then deny, the latest gossip, but again and again, the whispers kept reemerging from different corners of town, and they all revolved around Peeta. And how good he is in bed. Essentially.

According to the town’s folk, more specifically the female population, you can pay for his company. And he will _not_ disappoint. Katniss might not be very knowledgeable on the subject, but she knew enough to understand what that meant.

 

Afterwards, whenever they traded, Katniss would blush for no apparent reason, unable to look him in the eye. She didn’t want to trade with him anymore, she didn’t want to support his chosen occupation. And he noticed. “You like my shoes that much?”

“What?” Her head snaps back up and then looks away.

“My shoes. Do you like them that much that it’s the only part of me you can look at?”

She blushes. “N-no.”

“Then why won’t you look at me?”

“I do look at you.”

“Maybe you’ll stare at some point over my shoulder if I’m lucky,” he jokes, “but you can’t bear to look me in the eye.”

“Peeta…”

“Why is that?”

“I _know_.” She hopes he’ll understand what she means and won’t have to spell it out for him, but he raises his eyebrows in encouragement for her to continue.

“I know that you’re a, that you’re… What you do.”

His eyebrows raise even higher. He seems unimpressed. “Wow. Thanks.”

“No. I meant─ I know about your profession.”

“Yeah?” he asks, his tone dry, anger just below the surface. “What about it?”

She doesn’t reply. Thoughts rush to her tongue, about to spill out, but she knows she can’t say any of them, so she stays silent. Instead, she looks him in the eyes, since who knows how long, pleading him to understand. And he does, all too well.

“Katniss you knew I was buying condoms. What did you think they were for?”

She scowls. He doesn't need to be condescending about it. “I though that you bought them because you had a girlfriend or something…”

He laughs, a dry, humorless laugh. “Oh sweetheart, you would be the first one to know if I had a girlfriend. Besides, what difference does it make?”

She wants to roll her eyes. No, she wouldn’t be the first one to know. He is a, a… _prostitute_ and the entire District knew about it before she did. And she had find out from Delly Cartwright moaning about it in the girl’s bathroom.

“I thought you bought _condoms_ ,” she spits the word, she decides she’ll use the same one as him, “because you wanted to. Not because you _needed_.”

“I buy condoms because I want to survive,” he bites back. “And I don’t need you judging me about it too, along with the entire District.” He picks up his bag lying by his feet and throws it over his shoulder. Without sparing her a second glance, he walks away.

She glares at his back, failing to come up with a good retort. That last look he gave her made her shrink on the spot, the feeling of guilt taking root in her stomach. She knows that he gathers plants in the meadow and the forest. She knows that can’t be enough to survive. But for some reason she hadn’t stop to consider what else he could be subsisting on. And now... the condoms he buys from her make a lot more sense.

 

He doesn’t return after that. She doesn’t know where he’s getting his rubbers from, but it’s not from the apothecary. Maybe he had some spare ones to go around for a while. But she doesn’t want to wait until then. So she seeks him out.

She waits for him at Meadow, the scene reminding her of when they had first met. How surprised and guarded he had been at first, when he found her there, crouching between blades of grass. Afraid that she had seen him sneaking back into the District, he approached her.

“What are you doing?” His words had seemed cautious or maybe nervous, like he didn’t know how to approach her, and for some reason, that made her feel at ease.

“Collecting herbs,” she replied. He continued standing there, staring at her. The silence felt awkward. “You’re the baker’s son.”

He shook his head. “I think you’re mistaking me for someone else.”

“No, you _are_ ,” she insisted. “You are… the one that lives in the Seam.”

He shuffled on his feet. “You know who I am?” He sounded so surprised.

“Yeah,” she said, “You’re the same as me.”

He looked confused at first, not understanding what she meant by that, but then he seemed to realise… they’re two sides to the same coin. Chance had tossed their lives into the air and given them the same fate on opposites parts of the district.

She’s the miner’s merchant daughter. And he’s the baker’s Seam son.

 

“What are you doing here?” He startles her, approaching her from behind, his words echoing those first ones he had ever said to her. But now he sounds cold, and she feels small. She quickly stands up and turns around. He looks at her with a detached expression.

“I… wanted to see you.”

He scoffs. “Well I don’t.” He moves past her, but she grabs his arm to stop him. His expression doesn’t change, his face blank. “What?”

She knows she ought to apologise, but her pride refuses to do so when he’s treating her like this, like he can’t even look at her for too long or he’ll catch something. Instead, her mouth blurts out the first thing that crosses her mind, something that’ll get a reaction out of him. “I want to hire your services.”

His facade cracks for a second, and she thinks she sees hurt in his eyes. “I’m not a charity case.”

“It’s not pity.”

He studies her for a moment. “Why are you doing this? And don’t say you want to, because we both know that’s not true.”

“How would you know? Perhaps I want to─ to sleep with someone with no strings attached.”

He takes a step closer to her, invading her personal space, his breath against her skin, her heart stutters in her chest. There’s a faint smile on his lips as he leans in to whisper in her ear. “Are you _horny_ , Katniss?” His tone is mocking and she pushes him away, taking a step back to have a little more distance between them.

“Don’t do that,” she scowls.

“I thought you wanted me.”

“Not if you’re an ass about it. Is this how you treat all your clients?”

Something about what she says makes him pause and reconsider her. He searches her eyes. “Do you really want to…?”

Not really, but yes, kind of? She doesn’t like hearing others talking about him in that way. She wants him. And she likes the idea of doing _that_ without love getting in the way. She shrugs.

“I’m not cheap,” he warns. “And you have to provide a place if you want somewhere else than the Slag Heap.”

Her mouth is dry, so she nods instead.

“And I’m already busy this weekend so it’ll have to be the next one.”

She nods again. How do these kind of transactions and arrangements usually go?

He holds her eyes as he takes a few steps back. “See you then, I guess.”

“Wait!” She refuses to let him leave without talking about she had come here for. “You can still come to apothecary, you know? To trade…”

He shrugs his shoulders, but for some reason looks defeated. “As you wish.” And with that, he turns around and leaves.

 

He’s not actually busy this weekend. He just wanted to give her time to regret their deal and take back her words. He wanted for it to be real, and not a transaction.

 


	2. Then

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HPfanonezillion very kindly beta'd this for me and you have her to thank for the fact that you will not drown in commas when reading this (along with other stuff).
> 
> I don’t own the characters, the world, or the quotes borrowed.
> 
> Enjoy and thank you for reading!

 

The trade that weekend goes well, if somewhat stilled. They make arrangements. She wants for it to be outside, as in the other side of the fence, as in the forest. And yes, she’s still firm on her decision.

The next weekend, they meet in the Meadow; they kind of have an unofficial spot now. The sun is slowly crawling across the sky of their stolen Sunday evening as Peeta guides her under the fence. They walk in silence, both deep in their thoughts. Peeta leads her to a small grassed area surrounded by trees where the light is dimmer, only a few rays of sun finding their way through the thick of leaves. He lays a blanket down on the grass and she sits down, wrapping her arms around her knees. She watches as he lowers himself beside her, spreading his legs before him in a nonchalant manner.

They talk a little. About meaningless things. The district, school, their classmates, their teachers. They avoid their differences. She can’t understand how he can be so casual when she’s so high-strung. But then again, maybe he’s used to this.

 

“Do you do this a lot?” she blurts out, a blush immediately blooming across her cheeks. “Sorry. Stupid question.” She berates herself. Of course he does this a lot, it’s his livelihood. 

Peeta shakes his head, a laugh falling from his lips. “It’s fine, you can ask if you want to.”

“What happened to me judging you along with the entire the district?”

He shrugs, “I guess I just have to accept it. I am a prostitute after all,” he says, like it’s okay for her to judge him.

She’s suddenly filled with guilt. At his monotonous tone, his resigned outview. “But- but you’re doing it to survive. You’re feeding your family.” 

To him, that doesn’t hold much weight. It’s just the way things are.  They live in District 12, Panem, and there’s nothing they can do about that. “Well, yeah, but that doesn’t change the facts.” He sounds defeated. 

“But it changes the way I see it.”

“It does?” There’s a flicker of hope in his eyes, but soon as it came it disappears. “But what if I weren’t? What if, say, I was doing it for the pleasure?”

Her cheeks flush red. “I- I guess I couldn’t judge you for it either. It’s not my place to. And if, if you’re doing it for the pleasure, if you enjoy it and it, it makes you happy… then I guess I would have to be okay with it.” When she looks back at him, she sees her Peeta again, the Peeta that saves those kind, soft lipped smiles just for her. 

She hesitates for a second, before finally letting go of the words that have been chewing up her insides since that first dispute they had. “I’m sorry.” 

A soft breeze rustles her hair and she puts it back behind her ear. He stays silent, encouraging her to continue. She’s not sure, but she thinks she sees his small smile starting to spread.

“For assuming,” she apologises, “for judging you right away, for─ oh, god.” Her hands fly up to cover her mouth, her eyes wide.

“What?”

”Peeta! I hired you,” she frets, “Even if everything I said to you that day hadn’t been insulting enough, I- I went and hired you! Oh god, I hired you…” She looks taken aback by her own words, her face filled with mortification. 

“I’m aware of that,” he speaks slowly, like he doesn’t fully understand, “that’s why we’re here.”

“That’s why─” she chokes, the sudden realisation hitting her, for a short period of time she lost herself inside their bubble, forgetting all about their deal. “That’s why we’re here,” she repeats. “And we’ve talked the entire time,” she groans. She looks back up at him, afraid that he might get angry that she’s been wasting his time. Instead, he seems to be amused.

“Yeah,” he agrees, but unlike her, he sounds happy about it, “And I’ve actually enjoyed myself for once.” He stretches a little as he lays back on the blanket, his arms folded beneath his head.

“You have?” That can’t be true. She’s not good at talking. Or people. But looking down at him lying there, so comfortable, the mirth in his eyes and the smile on his lips that hasn’t disappeared, she thinks perhaps that might not be entirely true. Perhaps she can hold a conversation. With Peeta, at least.

“Mm-hmm, in a different way than I expected,” he says. He’s not teasing or insinuating that they should be doing something else. He says it in a relaxed manner, like it’s a mere fact and nothing more. But to her it’s a reminder that she’s paying for his services and has done nothing but waste his time.

“But um, shouldn’t we… start?”

“We can continue talking, if you want to,” he offers. He doesn’t want to force her into anything, and by the way she fumbles when the topic of sex is brought up, he can tell she isn’t ready. He wishes they had arranged meeting there for different reasons, yet he finds himself unable to resent her for hiring him. He appreciates their time together too much.

She’s confused. Isn’t _that_ what they’re here for? Why would he want to continue talking? He’s not expecting to get paid anyway, is he? She scowls. “I’m not going to pay you for talking.” It’s rude. She knows that, but the words just spill from her mouth.

He laughs, freely, happily. “I know,” he smiles, “I don’t expect you to.”

She’s still uncertain. “And we can just… talk? Nothing else?”

“Nothing else, unless you want to,” he says. “Now lie down.” He tugs at her sleeve, pulling her to lie beside him. She doesn’t budge, looking down at him, measuring him up.

“I’m not going to jump you,” he promises.

“Okay.” She decides to trust him.

“So just talking?”

“Just talking.”

 

He doesn’t miss her matching smile before she turns around to lie down beside him, stretching herself alongside his body, their heads both looking up at the little bits of sky that peek from in between the branches of the trees.

 

They don’t have much in common and what they would like to ask seems off limits. Yet somehow they find things to talk about. He rambles for a bit, telling her how he goes about finding the edible plants he gathers in the woods, how he always looks forward to spring because it means he’ll stop having to chew on tree bark and using pine needles for tea. He immediately regrets saying that, and rushes on to tell her about the few times he’s managed to catch a rabbit or a squirrel in traps that he’s been making, lowering his voice as he talks. “They don’t work often, I still haven’t got the hang of it, but,” he shrugs, and then coughs, as if he’s embarrassed. “Mother says it’s just luck, anyway. With how many creatures there are in this woods, one’s bound to fall in one of my traps.”

She snorts. “Your mother’s wrong. It’s not luck, Peeta.” She turns her head to look at him, but his eyes are still focused on the branches up above, his hair falling over his eyebrows, almost getting tangled with his lashes. “Creatures are smart,” she adds, “They have instincts and are always watching out for predators. You just happen to outsmart them.”

Warmth spreads through his chest at her words, like she actually sees something of value in him. She says it in a way like she’s not even aware of the words she’s speaking, like they’re simply facts, and that’s that.

He decides not to tell her how recently he’s taken up this hunting thing, how he wishes he could do something other than selling sex. How he wishes he could be worthy of her, instead of a source of pleasure for just one night, and not even that. Because even if he pretends and tries not to be ashamed by his profession, he can’t help but feeling lower than a Seam brat. Like some trash that got stuck to the sole of a shoe and has been dragged for way too long around the district.

 

He decides to change the subject. His hand breaches the gap between them, his fingers softly brushing the back of her hand that is lying on the blanket. He gets her attention and points out a nest perched in a low branch of a tree where not a second later they see a dark feathered bird carrying a twig in its beak, carefully arranging it in. “A mockingjay,” he whispers.

She nods, studying the bird poised on its nest, noticing the blue feathers, and whistles a four note tune. He thinks it might scare it away, but is surprised when he sees the bird stand at attention, repeating the tune back at them.

Katniss smiles softly, and he turns to look at her in awe, hoping that maybe he’ll hear her sing again.

She whistles again, this time a more elaborate tune. And this time the mockingjay is joined by two more, perched in branches from neighbouring trees, happy to sing in reply.

And then, his heart beating widely, she actually sings: “ _Deep in the meadow, under the willow. A bed of grass, a soft green pillow. Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes. And when again they open, the sun will rise_.”

She just sings that part of the song, the first stanza. But to him and his childhood self, it is like being struck again. He remembers now. How rich, how soft her voice is. He thought he remembered but his faded memory is just that, faded, plain in comparison to hearing her now. And just like all those years ago, for a moment, the birds fall silent listening to her sing. They’re frozen in time, stuck in that stanza. His eyes blink, closing down as if he’s falling asleep, falling for her. Only to be woken up by the mockingjays singing merrily, repeating the melody, a harmony building up in the forest, in the air around them. He can’t stop looking at her. 

She must feel his eyes on her because she turns her head, smiling back at him.

 

He hates the district in that moment. And his job, and the Seam, and the fact that she’s merchant and way too good for him to even hope for. Funny how in truth the thing he hates the most is his foolish heart.

And how it will inevitably get broken.

 

Funny how, despite everything, he wishes he could kiss her.

 

\---

 

Her mother notices a lightness in her step, as Katniss flutters around the back of the apothecary, tidying up before doing inventory after the finished day. At first she pegs it down to the mayor’s daughter visiting earlier that afternoon and whatever news she might have brought with her about a certain brown-eyed baker’s son. But then something at the back of her mind stirs and reminds her of that _other_ baker’s son. The one that isn’t really the baker’s son. And who has been knocking on their back door for a while now. How long has it been? A year?

Katniss is the one that always deals with those transactions and, to avoid an unnecessary confrontation with her daughter, Lillian had kept away. But maybe she was wrong to, and it’s about time she does something about it.

At first, he seemed like an annoying little weed that appears in the garden, innocent and harmless enough that you don’t bother to remove it. But what good are weeds if they’ll destroy a perfectly good herb as they grow? One has to tear out the weeds from their roots, otherwise they’ll just keep reappearing until it’s too late. No sense in putting your herb garden at risk. 

Lillian will make sure to visit Mrs. Mellark tomorrow at first hour so they can arrange a little something. She’ll probably be pleased to hear about her proposition. After all, the apothecary is an old and well respected establishment of the merchant community, nevermind that little stain in their family otherwise overlooked but for the darkness of Katniss’ skin.

 

\---

 

Delly Cartwright manages to join them for lunch, sitting down on the last spot that is left. Their table is filled with the usual crowd. The mayor’s daughter, the shoemaker’s, the tanner’s, the florist’s son, the tailor’s, the grocer’s. And as of late, the baker’s son and the candy shop kid had been joining them every now and then as well, despite the fact that they are a year older and that it means someone else in their group isn’t able to sit down with them. Thankfully, today they are blissfully absent.

 

Katniss eyes Peeta across the cafeteria sitting with a boy and a girl, both of them with the dark Seam look. Leevy, she thinks is the girl’s name, but she’s not familiar with the boy’s, although both of them are in her year. They’re talking in a relaxed manner, they’re clearly friends, laughing every now and then.

She looks back at her table, having pretty much ignored everyone so far. That is the thing about Merchant life. Even if you don’t want to, you have to socialise with the other merchant kids anyway because of how it might affect your business later on. So no one can outright reject anyone from sitting there. Maybe Madge, being the Mayor’s daughter, might have a little more autonomy when it comes to it, but not really; not that she likes exerting that kind of power to her advantage anyway.

Katniss is taking a bite of her sandwich, when Olive Crow, the tanner’s daughter, a vain girl that she’s not particularly fond of and would rather not interact with, addresses her from across the table.

 

“I hear congratulations are in order,” she says, eyeing her up, trying to gauge Katniss’ reaction.

Katniss can feel the curious stares from her other classmates. She lowers her sandwich. “Um thank you?” She can see the smug smile spreading across Olive’s face before she has even finished talking. “What for?”

“Oh, on your engagement, of course, silly!” She hears gasps around her and can see Delly’s wide eyed expression from the corner of her eye, her mouth hanging open.

“Uh, I’m not engaged.” She’s not sure what Olive is trying to achieve. They’ve always been fairly civilised to each other, despite their obvious mutual aversion.

Olive is the one that gasps now, taking a hand to her chest as if she’s absolutely shocked by the news. “I’m so, so sorry! I didn’t know it was meant to be kept a secret!”

“Katniss?” She hears Madge ask from her other side. 

She scowls. “I’m not engaged,” she repeats. Her voice curt, leaving no space for doubt. 

Olive continues talking, “Oh, but that’s not what I heard! Apparently it’s going to be a summer toasting, is that right?”

She clenches her sandwich wrapping in her fist. “I think you must have heard wrong, Olive, because I’m not getting married.” She’s annoyed and a little frustrated. 

Olive lets out a ridiculous, airy laugh. “Not with that attitude, no,” she shakes her head in amusement and then props up her hands under her chin, her elbows resting on the table. “But I must say my ears are perfectly fine, and I clearly heard your mother say to Mrs. Mellark that she was looking forward to having such a charming young man as her son-in-law.” Katniss pales at the mention of the name Mellark.

Olive goes on, oblivious to Katniss’ reaction, basking in the rapt attention from the rest of the table that is listening to her talk. “Hmm, I shouldn’t say Mrs. Mellark, should I? After all, that will be you soon, and it might get a bit confusing.” Olive has a smug smile that doesn’t seem will be leaving her face any time soon. “But do tell, are you marrying Bannock or Rye?” 

“Neither,” Katniss mumbles. But she’s taken too long to answer and can see the doubt creeping up in everyone’s faces, Delly even looking a little hurt, her eyes glassy.

“Don’t be stupid Olive, Bannock is already married to my sister, he’s even working at the shop,” says Rho, the florist’s son.

“Well, I’d take Rye any day,” chimes in Petunia Plum, from her place next to Olive. Everyone laughs.

Olive rolls her eyes. “Thank you for sharing, Petunia.”

“What? I’m just saying Katniss should consider herself lucky.”

Gratefully, Madge deems it an opportune moment to announce that there are only five minutes left for them to get to their next class. Everyone rushes to grab their things, throwing half-hearted congratulations Katniss’ way before they start to walk away from the table.

Madge stands beside her, waiting for her to gather her stuff. She doesn’t ask her if it’s true or not. And Katniss is thankful for that because, she has to admit, she does not know herself.

 

 


	3. But

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. I'm still not fully happy with how this chapter turned out, but it's been done for ages and it's been more than long enough.  
> This chapter is double the length from usual, so hopefully that helps to make up for it.
> 
> Also, many thanks to HPfanonezillion for betaing this for me!
> 
>  
> 
> I don't own the HG, the characters, the quotes borrowed, etc.

 

It turns out it’s true. Rye Mellark is her husband-to-be. The arrangement had been done behind her back. Her mother had spoken to Rye’s and they had reached an understanding.

And apparently Peeta has heard of the stupid rumour as well because he has stopped coming to the apothecary to trade. Or maybe her mother scared him away. But why should she care anyway─ She’s already betrothed to someone else.

 

As of late, Katniss has taken up to meeting up with Rye in the afternoons every few days. In part because their mothers encourage them a little bit too much to do so. But also because they’re getting married and neither of them really wants to.

They don’t do much. They sit side by side in silence, usually on a bench in the town square. Even Rye has dropped the act of having a crush on her. No point in pretending to like her when the fact that their mothers made the arrangement is out there and there is no real interest in the match from the married-couple-to-be themselves.

But Rye didn’t really put up a protest about it either. He wasn’t happy about it, he didn’t feel ready. But he knew that he’d end up marrying Katniss down the road anyway. He had just always thought he’d have more time, maybe even a couple of years.

And that just made Katniss all that much angrier. And helpless. Like she never really had a choice. Funny how everyone assumed it would be so, therefore, it had to be so. Funny how a merchant little girl only ever grows up to be a merchant’s little wife.

 

That day in particular, Katniss had no other option but to follow her mother to the bakery. They had been invited for a lovely cup of tea. However at arrival, Katniss soon discovers the tea was meant for her mother only, since she was immediately sent to the back, “Rye’s there,” Mrs. Mellark informs her, “You might as well start learning the ropes now.”

She nods and quickly hurries to the back, lest Mrs. Mellark changes her mind and makes her take part in the wedding planning. As she’s closing the door that separates the front of the bakery from the back, she hears one of the merchant wifes that are standing by the counter chime in, “God knows she’ll need all the time and practice she can get, that one…”

She stills on the other side of the door, listening to another wife agreeing, “No offense to you Lillian,” she says to her mother, “But we all know that Seam brats aren’t very bright, and well, that’s just in her blood, you know, there’s nothing one can do about it. The opposite can be said from your side of the family, of course.”

“No, of course,” her mother agrees.

Katniss doesn’t see it, but she can imagine Mrs. Mellark’s grimace. She’s used to this. To people saying things about her, never missing the chance to remark on her Seam genes. She takes a deep breath. _She’s used to this_.

She goes to sit on a stool next to the working area, across from where Rye is mixing ingredients. He nods in acknowledgment, but doesn’t divert his attention from what he’s doing and leaves her to wallow in her own thoughts. The words repeating in in her mind like a never-ending echo.

_No, of course_.

In that moment, she hates mother more than she has ever hated her absent father.

She hates this stupid marriage arrangement. She hates her dried, straw-like blonde braid that falls flat over her shoulder after years of dyeing. She hates her family for always looking down on her, like she’s not part of it, like her skin colour is an unremovable stain that has ruined the delicate wedding gown that has been passed down for generations in her family. Nevermind the fact that her mother should be the one held up to blame, the one that had the baby outside of marriage.

Not to mention that her mother feels like she can fix everything if she marries away her daughter to a respectable merchant boy. All of Katniss’ education being just that, the blonde tint that she carefully prepares for her daughter each month, Peeta being shunned from their back door, all a never-ending attempt tiredly trying to make up for her foolish, lovesick mistake. When there really never was a chance.

And Katniss hates the district just as much for going along with it, for not batting an eye, for encouraging it along. She hates the fact that she doesn’t have an option if she doesn’t want to go live on the streets and starve or to become a prostitute like Peeta had to. She hates that Peeta’s life could have been hers and that she is thankful it isn’t. She hates that she has been brought up in such comfort that now she wouldn't know the first thing about how to fend for herself. And that she’s left with no other option but to go along with the wedding.

She glares at Rye, because he’s the only one there who she can take out her anger on.

 

It hasn’t been that long since they first came into the bakery and Katniss was sent to the back. It can’t have been more than ten minutes, but suddenly there’s shouting coming from the front of the store.

“What do you mean that’s not going to happen?” barks Mrs. Mellark, her tone filled with threat.

“Just that, Euginia.” That’s her mother’s voice. “We’re not selling the apothecary.”

When Mrs. Mellark replies, the shouting has gone up a scale. “It’s traditional for the groom’s family to keep─”

Her mother cuts her off, even louder. “That apothecary has been in─”

“─Not going to be the last Mellarks to work in this bakery!”

“─Since before the Dark Days!”

Rye and Katniss rush to the front to find both women standing across from each other, spilled tea over the table. Her mother has a crumpled napkin in her fist and they’re glaring at each other.

“Out!” Mrs. Mellark yells. “Out! Leave!”

“With such hospitality, gladly,” her mother replies. “C’mon Katniss. We’re leaving.”

“And don’t come here until you’ve seen reason.”

Her mother laughs in a haughty sort of way that reminds her of Olive Crow. “I’ll give you some proper tea when you come to the apothecary with your tail between your legs, dear.” She looks back to where Katniss is still standing, taken aback by the entire screaming match that just took place. “Come now, Katniss, move along.”

 

Back in the apothecary, her mother informs Katniss that she has a headache and is going to lie down for a while. Katniss ignores her grandmother’s questioning glance and simply takes over attending the storefront.

 

It turns out they had foregone negotiating a small, but important detail when striking their deal. The only problem, in their otherwise pleasing arrangement, was which family business were Katniss and Rye to take over once they were married.

The fact was that both Katniss and Rye were the respective heirs to their family businesses, Bannock being already married and working at the flower shop, and Katniss being an only child. It was obvious they weren’t going to be able to manage and work at both, them being only two people.

Katniss wasn’t particularly fond of the apothecary, she liked preparing the medicines and salves well enough, but she couldn’t imagine herself ever being at home in the bakery. And this quarrel between Mrs. Mellark and her mother meant that their engagement was canceled for the time being. She couldn't help but be happy about the supposedly bad news.

  
  


Katniss decides she has to use this new information to her advantage while she can before their mothers figure out a way to solve their differences on their own. And she’ll need Rye’s help for that.

 

She seeks him out at the bakery, coming in through the back door.

“Is your mom here?” Katniss asks as she sits down on a stool that has become her spot.

Usually, Rye’s the one that manages the counter, but ever since their engagement announcement he had been avoiding the storefront, sticking to working in the kitchen instead.

Rye goes back to where had been kneading dough after letting her in.

“No, I think she’s having tea with Mrs. Cartwright,” he replies, rolling his eyes in an uncharacteristic manner, as he adds a bit of flour to the mix.

“What?” She’s disconcerted about his attitude.

“Nothing.” He shrugs.

She studies him for a moment before deciding to leave it aside and get straight into what she had come here for.

“I have a proposition for you.”

He continues kneading, focused on his fingers working the dough. If he’s even a little bit curious, he doesn’t show it. She goes ahead anyway.

“I don’t want to marry you,” she states.

He doesn’t look up from his work. “That’s not a proposition.”

“I know, I’m setting up context here,” she says, this time she’s the one to roll her eyes. She pauses. “You don’t want to marry me, either.”

“That doesn’t matter to our mothers.”

Katniss takes his participation in the conversation as a good sign. “No, but they do care about which business we inherit. And according to my mother we’re no longer engaged.”

He perks up at that. “We’re not?”

“Not until your mom agrees to sell the bakery,” she explains.

He laughs at her ridiculous statement. “That’s not going to happen.”

“I know,” she huffs. “What would you do?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean─ If you were in your mom’s place, what would you do?”

Rye stays silent, considering her question. “I imagine I would marry me off to someone else,” he says slowly. He looks up at her to gauge whether that was the answer she was expecting, but can’t read her expression. “And the same goes for you.”

She nods, “Yeah, but who would you choose to marry?”

He doesn’t have to think about it. “Merchants don’t marry for love.”

He is quite annoying. She can’t imagine being married to him without completely losing her patience. “Indulge me, please.”

He shakes his head.

“What trade would you like?” Katniss insists. “I know you don’t really care for baking.”

He thinks for a second. “I guess, I guess wouldn’t mind working at the shoe shop.”

She’s never been good at reading people, or what they hide in between the lines, but even as oblivious as she is, she’s able to translate what Rye says. Maybe because she’s paying attention and deliberately looking for those bits of information that tend to be left unsaid.

“Yeah?” She encourages him to elaborate. “What about making shoes exactly?”

“Oh, um… I don’t know, exactly, but, I guess I like the manual work and, um the smell of leather.”

She smiles. “The smell on shoes or on Delly?”

“On De─ _shoes_.”

Her smiles widens. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen her smile so openly before.

“So here’s my proposition. I help you make Delly fall in love with you and get married.” She leaves out the fact that she suspects there’s a very good chance Delly has a crush on him already. Madge had made a few comments about it in passing when Rye first started seeking out Katniss.

He places both of his hands flat on the worktable, the dough forgotten, like he means business. He tries to read her face. “What’s in it for you?”

She notices he doesn’t deny his crush on Delly. “Well, we don’t get married,” she points out.

“To me,” he corrects. “You don’t get married to me, but you’ll have to get married to someone else. And anyway, there’s the same problem with Delly as with you, she’s the one to inherit the shoe shop, unless her parents agree to pass it on to her little brother.”

“ _Notifthebakerygoestoyourotherbrother_ ,” she rushes out.

“What?” She’s not sure whether he asks because he didn’t hear her or because he’s been caught off guard.

“Not if the bakery goes to your other brother,” she repeats slowly.

“My other─” His eyes widen in understanding. “You mean the bastard?”

“Don’t call him that.” She scowls, crossing her arms over her chest.

Rye grins widely. “Ooh, someone’s defensive,” he teases, relishing in having discovered this new interest of hers.

Her scowl deepens. “Shut up.”

“So, that’s why you’re offering to help,” he muses, “You want me out of the picture so you can marry _him_ instead.”

She glares at Rye. “I don’t want to marry him.”

“Good. Because that’s not going to happen. And I don’t say this in a mean way, Katniss. Even if I did end up marrying Delly, you wouldn’t be able to marry him. And not because either the apothecary or the bakery would be left without an heir. It’s just how things are. So it’s good you already have that clear.”

She shrugs, like she really couldn’t care either way. She picks up her braid and examines the dry and split ends, trying to appear nonchalant, like there’s nothing more interesting. “Still,” she says, “You could be free to marry Delly if the bakery went to him.”

“My mother would have to be dead before that ever happened.”

“I think it’s worth a try, don’t you?” She looks up at him and sees the doubt in his eyes. “Imagine if we were successful.” He doesn’t reply, actually considering what she’s proposing, picturing it in his head…

She carries on, “What do you have to lose? In the worse case you end up marrying me anyway.”

With that, she knows he’s in.

 

\---

 

That evening, she’s the one responsible for closing the apothecary, so she’s alone in the store. Everyone else already upstairs in the apartment resting after a long day. With a heavy sigh she settles down on the desk to do the books.

She can’t focus on the numbers. Her mind keeps wandering away to a certain blonde Seam boy. She questions whether she’s doing the right thing, whether she should continue to go ahead without asking him first. It affects him directly, after all. But with Peeta being kept away by whatever her mother said to him, and having to act before Mrs. Mellark and her mother come once again to an agreement, she had to go ahead and set things in motion.

She doesn’t want to marry, and Rye marrying someone else will buy her some time to figure her own relationship status out. With no immediate suitor available, she will have at least about a year until she finishes school to come up with something. Maybe, if she’s lucky, she can apply to one of those jobs at the Justice Building and not marry at all. But maybe that’s not fathomable.

She doesn’t really expect her conversation with the baker to succeed. He won’t accept Peeta with open arms and make him the bakery’s heir. But when bartering, one always has to aim higher so that there’s a counteroffer to be made once the first one has been rejected, a counter offer that doesn’t seem to be asking that much, not when put in comparison to the one that was presented first. Peeta does have a right to the bakery, after all. She’s simply doing the right thing. And that’s all there is to it.

Rye will probably be the one to inherit the bakery anyway, but maybe, if she manages to convince everyone, she can get Peeta a new job there and get him out of the Seam. And if it all comes to the worst, at least she’ll keep the baker distracted while Rye woos and charms Delly.

It all depends on Rye getting engaged to Delly really. If he does, then the baker will be left with no other option but to accept any help he can get to keep the bakery working. At least until Delly’s little brother grows up that is, and the shoe shop decides they can do without Rye and Delly working there. But she’ll take what she can get.

 

A knock on the back door takes her out of her ruminations and she realises she still hasn’t finished calculating the balance. She puts her pencil down and gets up from the desk. She navigates through the darkened back of the apothecary to the door without bothering to turn on the lights. No sense in having them on if she’s the only one down there and can do just fine with the one she has on the desk. She hesitates a moment before opening the door, looking behind her to make sure she’s alone, even though she knows she is. But her heartbeat rushes with the thought that it might be Peeta on the other side and she doesn’t want to run the risk of being discovered.

And she isn’t wrong. He looks up when she opens, a boyish grin spreading across his lips.

“Peeta!” She tries to keep her voice down, but it’s been so long since she last saw him. She finds she has missed him. Somehow, through all their trading, she started considering him her friend. And with a sad heart she had noticed his absence these last days he hadn’t shown up.

“Hi,” he says, his voice low.

“Hi,” she replies, leaning against the doorframe, in that same hushed tone, their smiles matching. “Did you come to trade?”

“No...” He bites his lip, hesitating, before climbing up one of the steps, moving closer. “I, uh, I came to see you.”

Something flutters in her stomach, her breath caught in her throat. His hand moves through his hair to the back of his neck and her eyes follow the movement, a strange urge to trace the same path with her own hand.

“I was wondering if, maybe you would like to go for walk?” he asks.

She focuses back on his eyes. “Now?”

He falters. “Well, yeah...” He looks over his shoulder at the sky darkening, dusk setting in. “I guess this isn’t the best time, is it? I should have thought this through more.” He mumbles the last part almost to himself.

“Okay.” She cuts him before he can go on. On the days she closes the apothecary, she stays up too late downstairs and when she finally goes up, more often than not, she has dinner on her own.

And she’s just so tired of her mother that she doesn’t really care if Lillian does end up noticing her daughter’s absence.

He looks at her, his eyes hopeful. “Okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll go with you, just let me grab my coat.”

“Okay.” He grins widely.

She hesitates a second, trapped in his gaze, smiling in return. She moves back inside the apothecary to turn off the desk lamp, and grab the keys and her coat.

 

They keep some distance between them as they walk, not talking, both silently agreeing to wait until they’re a bit further from the apothecary and the houses in town. Without discussing it they reach the fence and start walking alongside it. Their surroundings are bathed in a bluish light, the sun gone, the sky slowly darkening from the last traces of orange to a deeper blue that is almost purple. It’s that hour of the day when everything is a little infinite, blending in with the background, the tops of the trees becoming one with the sky.

“Is it true?” Peeta asks, his voice quiet, almost getting carried by the wind. He walks looking ahead, his steps loud and steady.

“Is what true?” she asks. Something moves inside her, uncomfortable.

The moon shines behind them as they head towards the Meadow, not full yet, but close enough that there’s plenty of light to see. Katniss isn’t sure if she’s the one guiding them, or if both had the same thought.

He still isn’t looking at her. “You know what,” he says quietly.

And truth is, she does. And it is. She lowers her head. “It’s true,” she admits.

He doesn’t answer immediately, turning his head to the forest on the other side of the fence, nonchalant. He already knew that was going to be her answer, but still needed to hear it from her anyway. “When is the big day?”

She’s thankful he doesn’t say congratulations or pretends to be happy for her. But he’s not looking at her and she can’t read him. Suddenly he’s become a stranger.

“We don’t know yet,” she says. “Our mothers are overviewing everything. But...” She hesitates for a moment. Unsure of how much she should tell him. She doesn’t want to mention her plans about the bakery to him yet because she doesn’t want to get his hopes up only to see them crushed if it all goes to nothing. So she plays it safe, saying only what she knows for certain. “But they’ve called it off now.”

He stops and looks at her eyes, while his remain inscrutable, cautious. They are standing almost at the edge of the Meadow. “You’re not getting married anymore? Why?” He’s distrustful.

“Our mothers couldn’t decide which business we are to inherit and take over, so… they retracted from their agreement,” she explains.

His brows rise in surprise. “Your mothers set up the whole thing?”

“Yeah…” She shrugs, like it doesn’t really matter. It’s the way things are. At least in the part of the District where she lives. “I guess it’s a Merchant thing.”

“I thought─” He shakes his head. “Nevermind. C’mon.” He grabs her wrist and guides her to the Meadow to that spot that they now have. Katniss started calling it theirs, not knowing Peeta did the same.

He lets go of her when they sit down near the oak, in between tall grasses, practically hidden from view. She finds herself missing his warm fingers on her skin. They’re sitting closer than they were last time.  This time, Katniss doesn’t draw up her knees. Instead she sits with one of her legs stretched and the other bent on the grass, Peeta sitting beside her with his legs crossed.

“Did, did my mother say something to you?” she asks, “To keep you away, I mean?”

He looks down, embarrassed. “Not exactly… She just mentioned you were getting married, and that you shouldn’t be seen with the likes of me.” He gives her a rueful smile. “I suppose that was enough.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, her eyes fleeting down to her fingers fiddling with a couple blades of grass.

“There’s no need to apologise, Katniss. I understand. And I wouldn’t want to hurt your chances of getting married.” She lifts her eyes back to him, noticing how earnestness he sounds, even when his eyes look dim.

“You shouldn’t have listened to her,” she insists. “I like seeing you,” she admits quietly holding his gaze. Her heart warms when she sees his blue eyes light up.

“I missed seeing you,” he confesses. They look at each other, sharing shy smiles. One side of his lips raises higher than the other, giving him a boyish look.

The wind flurries around them and Peeta reaches for a strand of her hair that breaks free from her braid and tucks it behind her ear, his touch lingering on her skin. A shiver goes down her spine and she pulls her coat tighter even though she isn’t cold. The grass sways softly around them, the leaves from the oak fluttering, a few falling.

He frowns a little, his eyes fixed on her blonde braid and all that it entails. How it’s his fault. “Thank you,” he speaks softly, his eyes moving back up to hers. “For taking care─ for healing me.”

“For healing you? You mean, from when we were kids?” She shakes her head softly. “I think we can let that go…”

“But you didn’t know me. We had never even spoken.” A slight breeze is still blowing, rustling the leaves and the grass she almost doesn’t hear him as he finishes, “And you got punished for it.”

Her hand immediately flies up to her dyed hair, tugging the end of her braid. She turns her head away, a strange sort of humiliation swallowing her up. She feels her cheeks burn. “It’s not punishment,” she denies. “It’s for me to fit in better, for my well-being.” She’s not sure who she’s trying to convince. It sounds like she’s repeating someone else’s words.

Peeta doesn’t say anything, but moves closer, their shoulders pressed together, their knees brushing as he stretches his legs before him and then bends them a little. He reaches over for her hand, knotting their fingers together and squeezes softly.

His touch is comforting on her skin. She wants to burrow into his warmth, press her nose against his skin, let him wrap his arms around her. But the memory of what happened all those years keeps hovering in the forefront of her mind. His bruised face, his twisted leg.

It takes her a moment to ask, her voice quiet. “Was it your mother? Who did that to you?”

He swallows before answering, but when he opens his mouth he realises he doesn’t have the words. He nods instead. And she squeezes his hand in return. An understanding passing between them.

“Why do you do what you do then? If your mother is…” She leaves the sentence unfinished, but she can see in his eyes he understands.

“I’m not sure I would do it if it was only me,” he starts. “But Prim… You didn’t see Prim, her hollow cheeks, her hungry eyes. I could hear her stomach growl at night. We had little food back then and I was already afraid they were going to send us to the Community Home since our mother had started drinking and well─ she still hasn’t stopped─ but… I couldn’t bear the thought of Prim in that place. She would have been crushed. So I did what I had to do.”

“When did you start?” she asks quietly.

“A little before the first time we traded.” His eyes look haunted and she immediately regrets asking. She places their tangled hands in her lap, her other hand covering both of them, tracing figures on his skin, trying to soften his words, trying to erase her question.

But he goes on. Maybe he has never said any of this aloud before. “I look Merchant and that absolves them from feeling guilty. They get to have fun, without having to consider if I’m a suitable prospect or if it hurts their chances of marriage. It doesn’t matter if they sleep with me because I’m Seam. I don’t count,” he shrugs. “And after we’re done, they go back home and pretend nothing happened and I have some coin to buy food for Prim. Everybody’s happy.” There’s no self-pity in his voice. Yet it sounds hollow, like he has memorised the words trying to reassure himself. Everybody’s happy.

“You’re not happy,” she whispers.

His hold on her hand tightens. He doesn’t immediately reply. “I guess that’s part of living in District 12.”

They let the night sounds wrap around them, the leaves rustling, an owl hooting. They sit side by side looking out at the Meadow and the woods in the background, her head resting on his shoulder, their hands entwined together in her lap. Something about him makes her want to sit even closer, hide herself in his warmth.

“Do you ever imagine what it’d be like to live out there?” she asks.

“In the woods?”

They’re still talking in hushed tones. She nods against his shoulder. He smells nice, like pine and earth and logs burning in the fireplace.

“Sometimes when I go there, to gather herbs and such, I’ve come across a hunter,” he tells her. “I don’t think he lives there, but he seems so at home surrounded by trees, like he has been going there for years. He probably has, really.”

“A hunter?” She asks in wonder, it sounds like a character taken out from one of the fairytales her mother used to tell her when she was little. His thumb traces figures on her skin. It’s meant to be soothing, but energy rushes through her body. Every particle inside her feels awake.

“I wish I could do something like that, so we could live out there,” she says.

He notices her use of we, but decides not to comment on it, wondering if it was a slip of the tongue or if she really means it. He hums in agreement, “That’d be nice.”

“It would be,” she agrees.

He can hear the smile in her voice and turns his head to look at her. She’s bathed in moonlight, her eyes soft and endless, looking back at him. His lips curl up.

Entranced, she brings her hand to his lips, her fingers trailing how they curve up. His mouth opens a little in surprise and stares at her, his heart speeding up, his warm breath fawning over her fingers.

She stills. Her gaze darts up to look at him, and he holds her stare, his eyes darkened. His tongue peeks out from his mouth, experimentally, tentatively, tasting the salt on her skin.

“Peeta,” she whispers. She feels lightheaded. This is what she imagines being drunk feels like. Her fingers on his lips move across his skin to his neck and bury in his curls, holding onto him. She needs him to anchor herself.

She leans forward a little, closing the gap between them but halts. Their noses brush against each other, their breaths mingling. She searches his eyes and sees them flicker to her lips and back─ he’s waiting for her. She closes the distance.

She places a soft kiss on his lips. Just a brush, lingering there for a moment. She draws back, scared that she read him wrong, but his mouth follows her and kisses her again, his hand sliding into her hair to keep her from going too far. She sighs against him. He traces her lower lip with his tongue and tugs it inside his mouth, drawing a sound from her, her other hand coming up to rest on his chest, clutching at the sweater that peeks through his open jacket. She lets herself melt into him.

They kiss slowly, deeply, their movements filled with longing. She feels warm and hungry and insatiable. Peeta pulls her to sit between his legs as they break apart and drags his mouth up her jaw, nudging her chin with his nose and plants kisses down her neck, paying special attention to a spot beneath her ear, making her mewl. She tugs on his hair, her toes curling inside her boots.

She tucks her face into the crook of his neck, her breath against his skin, and he rests his head against hers, panting, his fingers softly scratching her head.

“I should walk you home,” he says quietly, still catching his breath.

She nods in agreement, but neither of them move, curled into each other. “Just a little longer.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
